May 28, 2008
I step into the elevator and the stereotypical music is playing
Frank Sinatra or Michael Buble, I can’t really tell
Pushing the cold round buttons and I hear ding
I press the bottom floor, H
The door slowly closes, there’s no way out now
Wait, what am I getting myself into? Help, Help.
I am going to hell, just to see what’s really down there
My fingers start shaking as the steam comes from the door
The lights turn to a bluish tint, something is wrong
The heat is now unbearable and sweat is beading on my forehead
I am stuck in a metal box, a metal oven, the heat is blistering
The motion stops and it looks like I have arrived
The door opens and I really regret my past
I step out slowly and the smell of sin fills the air
now what...

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Pete said...
Aug. 8, 2008 at 1:14 am
This guy can write...
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